


Labour of Love

by Fontainebleau



Series: Where the Road Leads [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Extended Metaphor, M/M, Sex on a hot day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 05:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10587381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fontainebleau/pseuds/Fontainebleau
Summary: ‘We’re not going to be slacking,’ says Billy against his mouth, ‘come with me and I’ll show you what I’ve learned about housebuilding.’





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wanderingsmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/gifts).



> Prompt from wanderingsmith, who asked for an interruption to a hot afternoon's work, inspired by [this image](https://wanderingsmithca.tumblr.com/post/156594364138/i-dont-know-about-you-but-i-need-cheering-up): I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> The background scenario is not immediately relevant, but the house they are building is in Rose Creek, and is the one in which they live in [Homecoming](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10355079) and [When I Look at You](https://fontainebleau22.tumblr.com/post/157705729149/when-i-look-at-you)

It’s a hot day to be working, and getting hotter as the sun stands high: heat’s shimmering on the road and Billy’s in his shirt-sleeves as he brings another wagonload of logs down to the site of the house. The horse flicks her ears to drive away the flies that dance around her head, and Billy can’t find it in him to force her out of a lazy amble. 

He pulls up next to the half-boarded frame of the house, jumps down and goes around to unhitch the load, letting the logs tumble free with a crash ready for the next round of splitting and planing; then he takes the two waterbuckets from the wagon bed, sets one in front of the horse and goes around the side of the house with the other slopping against his legs to find Goody.

Goodnight is hard at work, swinging his axe into the log he’s tackling, wedges hammered in to keep the cut open, and the number of split logs around him shows he’s not been slacking despite the heat. As Billy appears he breaks into a grin, mops a sleeve across his brow and straightens up. ‘You’re like an oasis in the desert, cher.’ 

‘Cold from the well,’ says Billy, putting the bucket down and offering him the dipper, and Goody hacks his axe into the log, fills the dipper full and drinks thirstily, water spilling down his neck and running under his collar.

As he watches Billy’s throat dries with more than heat. Goody’s shirt is half undone, and a sheen of sweat makes his arms and chest glisten in the sun. Weeks of outdoor work have restored him to health and vigour – he’s tanned where he was pale, hair lightened by the sun, arms swelling strong and muscular from his rolled sleeves and shoulders broad under the sweatsoaked shirt. 

The water runs down Goody’s throat in sparkling beads, disappearing under his ragged collar, and Billy feels a stirring of lust, hot in the hot day. This man. He wants to chase the droplets with his tongue across that tanned skin, to run his hands over the hard muscle swelling under the shirt, to …

‘What is it, Billy?’ Goody smiles at him, eyes sparkling like the water, and he realises how he’s staring.

‘You,’ he says, stepping closer, ‘just you,’ and slides an arm around his waist to pull him in, surrendering to the urge to run his tongue down Goody’s neck, tasting sweet water over salt sweat, gliding down to his collarbone and kissing into the hollow of his throat, feeling Goody’s hands close on the damp shirt at the small of his back. Close to he smells of fresh sweat overlaying soap and clean cotton, and Billy splays his hand on his back, feeling him hard and hot and alive underneath the cloth.

‘Trying to distract me from my labours?’ smiles Goodnight. 

‘You’re distracting me,’ says Billy, deftly hooking another button open so he can follow a drop which has sneaked under his collar. 

‘Not to say I’m not amenable,’ says Goody, hands sliding further down to press them together, demonstrating just how amenable he could be, ‘but I’m pretty sweated: we both are.’ 

‘Mmm,’ says Billy, licking back up his throat, ‘I think I can fix that.’

He steps backwards, heaves up the bucket and dumps its contents out over their heads. The sudden crash of cold water has Goody swearing, but it’s delicious, soaking straight through their shirts and pants, cooling and invigorating them, and Billy stands there grinning as Goodnight shakes his head, swipes the water from his eyes, then grabs his shirt and hauls him in to wrap him in a soaking embrace, water from their hair trickling into their mouths as they kiss. 

‘We’re not going to be slacking,’ says Billy against his mouth, ‘come with me and I’ll show you what I’ve learned about housebuilding.’ He tugs Goody into the shade of the half-built house, and with a quick hook of his ankle sends them tumbling full-length onto the soft grass, coming up sitting across Goody’s hips, looking down at him as he quakes with laughter underneath him. 

‘First thing,’ says Billy, pulling off his own shirt and tossing it aside, ‘you have to check the quality of your materials.’ He unbuttons Goody’s shirt the rest of the way and tugs it out of his waistband so he can run both hands over his skin. Goodnight stretches out his arms, offering himself up with a shameless grin as the muscles flex enticingly under his skin, letting Billy’s fingers trace the dips and hollows of his chest and stomach. As he bends to follow with his lips Goody begins to shift lasciviously against him, but Billy puts a reproving hand on his hip to still him. ‘This needs a careful survey.’ 

He works his way back up Goody’s chest, tasting his skin, nipping gently with his teeth and enjoying the tiny gasps it elicits, then drags his tongue slowly across a nipple. When he touches one of the new scars, still pale against the tan, ‘Seen some wear and tear,’ says Goody breathlessly. 

‘Ah,' says Billy, pressing his lips to the star of healed flesh, ‘but that’s good: you want your wood well-seasoned, not young and unreliable.’

Goody sits up, lets shirt fall behind him, then winds his arms around Billy’s back and draws him into a hot, searching kiss, clearly intended as a distraction from the fingers working the tie out of his damp hair. Billy slides his hands round Goody’s ass to pull him closer, and when Goody tangles his hands into his hair as he loves to do the gentle tug of his fingers, his insistent lips and the press of warm skin against his are almost too much distraction. 

He breaks the kiss to look into those eyes, already swimming with lust; ‘Next step,’ he says, then hesitates, picturing how they must look, half-naked among the planks and logs. 

‘Something wrong?’ murmurs Goody. 

‘Should we find somewhere less …?’ 

Goody leans in to nuzzle against his neck. ‘Inside the house is all chips and sawdust: we can’t roll each other about in that. Besides,’ planting a kiss on Billy’s chest, ‘this is our land.’ Another kiss, higher up, and a delicate slide of a tongue along his collarbone. ‘Our place,’ with a graze of teeth that sets him panting, ‘where we can do what we like.’ 

The ring of confidence in Goody’s words and the expression of mingled lust and pride in his face that touch him to the core, and Billy takes his face in his hands to kiss him again, fierce and possessive, the spark between them still like fire in his veins after all these years.

‘Second step, then,’ he says, pressing him firmly down onto the grass and sitting over him once more. 

‘And what might that be, cher?’ asks Goody from flat on his back, hands stroking up Billy’s thighs to rub at the straining outline there. 

‘That’s right; you check that you have all the right tools.’ And his fingers go to the waistband of Goody’s pants, nimbly unfastening them and tugging them down to reveal his cock springing up full and heavy. What a sight he makes, eyes shining and skin burnished from the heat, flushed with arousal, willing and exposed, and Billy curls his hand around the silky shaft, seeing his eyelids flutter closed as he trails his thumb over the head. He could keep him like this forever, hand moving up and down in lazy strokes, bending over him with hair falling to tickle his skin, tonguetip flicking out to taste him and hear his breath catch, _all mine_. 

As Goody’s breathing quickens Billy becomes increasingly aware of the hand still stroking over the front of his pants, sending a train of tiny sparks scattering through him, and when he shifts and hisses with an involuntary shiver Goody lifts himself up on one elbow. ‘Seems you’re encouraging me to shirk my end of the job here.’ 

‘Work your shift, then,’ says Billy, rolling over onto his back, and he lies with his hands under his head, watching as Goody impatiently kicks off his own boots and pants and then strips him naked to the summer heat. 

‘Confident you’re up to inspection?’ smirks Goody, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as his hands smooth up Billy’s thighs. 

‘Always,’ purrs Billy, with a thrust of his hips.

‘We’ll see,’ murmurs Goody, bending to his task, and Billy’s reply is lost as the trail of nips and sucks he leaves along the soft skin and the fingers teasing at his balls reduce him to pure sighing sensation. His breath catches in his throat as Goody licks slow and wet up his shaft, and the scent of crushed grass and freshly-split wood, the feel of skin bare to the warm breeze, the sight of Goody naked, swallowing him down, combine in a heady swirl of sensation as that hot slick mouth and curling tongue begin to tempt him along the path of easy surrender.

Gritting his teeth instead Billy tugs gently at Goody’s hair, managing to choke out accusingly, ‘You’re distracting me.’ Goody pulls off him, eager and breathless, to say, ‘So I should hope,’ but Billy says, ‘Come here,’ and draws him back up, rolling them over to trap him underneath again, all that marvellous warm skin pressed against his. 

‘Third step,’ he says. ‘When you’ve got everything to hand, you prepare the foundation.’ 

‘Is that right?’ asks Goody, eyes dark and glittering. 

‘Yes,’ says Billy, fingers stealing down to stroke over his ass, ‘you need to make sure your groundwork is thorough.’ 

‘Then we’ll need this,’ says Goody with a wicked grin, reaching for his pants pocket to produce a tiny jar. 

‘Goodnight Robicheaux, what kind of man are you?’ 

‘Good workman’s prepared for any job, cher. Complaints?’ 

‘Hell, no,’ growls Billy, taking the jar, and Goody rolls his hips expectantly beneath him as he slicks up his fingers. 

‘Groundwork,’ he murmurs against Goody’s open lips, and begins easing his fingers into him, working the oil into his body. Seeing him like this, head thrown back in abandon, so ready for him, golden and luscious, fills Billy with a rising fire, and the delicious slow slide and press of Goody’s hard length against his has him reaching urgently to press the jar into Goody’s hand. 

Goody pours the oil shining into his palm, his husky, ‘What next?’ ending in a gasp as Billy sucks a bruise into his neck. It’s a struggle to gather his thoughts enough to answer, ‘Next, you raise the frame, and that takes a combined effort,’ and when two oily hands engulf him, slicking up hand over hand, it’s almost too much, so smooth and warm, Goody sitting up against him mouth wet and greedy on his, and he could just lose himself in it until he’s swept away, but he stills Goody’s hands with his own.

‘Can’t leave a job half-done,’ he gasps, pulling Goody into his lap. 

‘Once the frame is up and sound, what comes after?’ breathes Goody with one final lingering squeeze. ‘After that,’ says Billy, ragged with anticipation as he lines them up, ‘it’s all a matter of hard work and technique.’ 

And the technique seems to be right: as Goody slides down onto him the intensity of it, the lush tight heat, sets his head spinning, and he buries his face in Goody’s neck, breathing him in, tanned and warm and passionate; they draw it out in sweet slow strokes, like the golden day itself, in a haze of warm breeze and crushed grass and hot bodies, rocking slowly because they have all the time they want, all the long hot afternoon. 

The new-found sense of ownership and freedom opens Billy up: after all these years of muffling their sounds, covering Goody’s mouth with his hand, choking down his own cries, now he works harder for the delight of hearing Goody’s words of praise and pleasure spill out unrestrained, adding his own curses and gasps of Goody’s name, holding nothing back. 

Tension begins to shake in both of them as they keep the same unhurried pace, Billy’s nails digging into Goody’s hips, Goody’s hands tight in his hair, an agonisingly sweet pleasure that builds in them with the inevitability of a burning fuse, until Goody snakes a hand between them to wrap around himself and groan sharp and sudden into his climax, spilling hot between them. The punch of heat and the muscles tightening around him tip Billy straight over the edge; he thrusts up, quick and hard, and comes with a shout in waves of blinding white.

How long they lie on the grass afterwards, lips and tongues sliding lazily together, he doesn’t know; he’s drowning in the heat and the scent and the softness of it, still twined as close as can be, kissing with his hands on Goody’s face, and when he opens his eyes he’s surprised to find it still day, the sun still high overhead. 

‘A job well done,’ murmurs Goody. ‘Can’t fault your skill.’ 

‘Team effort,’ says Billy, shaking into helpless laughter at the ridiculousness of it, and Goody pulls him close again. 

‘You are a fool, Billy Rocks, and I love you for it.’ The breeze cools their skin as the world comes back into focus around them, and Billy sighs and rolls onto his back, relaxed as the water rippling in the creek.

To his surprise Goody tenses beside him reaching for his pants and Billy turns his head in consternation. ‘You can’t be meaning to go back to work?’ 

‘Hell, no, cher,’ says Goody, rolling back to press another lazy kiss to his jaw, ‘we just put up a whole house, I think we deserve some rest, but we can’t go to sleep naked.’ 

He untangles Billy’s pants and his own, and when they’re both marginally decent stretches out luxuriously in the shade, drawing Billy’s head onto his lap. Billy feels him sigh contentedly, back propped against the boards of their house, fingers stirring gently through his hair, and the afternoon heat settles over them, the lazy buzz of insects, scents of wood and grass and summer, in the place that’s going to be home.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: fontainebleau22.tumblr.com


End file.
